


Brought Down by Puppies

by ChillieBean



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pre-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: It's only a few minutes that pass before Angela's ordering, a cappuccino for Moira and a short black for herself. She's ready to pay when she hears a squeal, and she looks over her shoulder—along with everyone else in the vicinity—at Moira, sitting on the ground, with four leashed Labrador puppies in her lap, all clamoring to lick her face.





	Brought Down by Puppies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msmami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmami/gifts).



> Inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie/status/1134354632346484736).

It is bad. Worse than Angela could have ever imagined.

The death metal is the first clue. Blasting from Moira's lab, Angela can hear it as she rounds the corner. She doesn’t know _what_ or _who_ it is, short of a bone-rattling beat, a backing symphony orchestra, and almost incomprehensible dramatic lyrics about the afterlife.

Angela opens the door, settling on Moira, and she grimaces. Music aside, Moira's looks absolutely worse for wear. Her hair is flat and greasy, she’s not wearing her labcoat despite being a stickler for lab safety, the top three buttons of her shirt are undone, and her tie is nowhere to be seen.

It is very bad, indeed.

Angela's certain that Moira is wearing the same clothes from three days ago, when she started this experiment. Despite Moira's promises that she would go home between incubations to rest and shower, it seems she hasn’t.

Even though Moira looks like she's only running on ten hours worth of sleep, Moira has steely concentration and a steady hand as she pipettes a microlitre amount of liquid to a group of tubes. She doesn’t acknowledge Angela’s presence, not until after she’s capped them, given them a quick mix, and put them in the centrifuge.

Moira stands, draws her shoulders back, and groans. After taking off her gloves and shaking out her hands, she looks at Angela, grinning from ear to ear. She mutes the music and glorious silence finally falls in the lab. “Angela! My favourite person!”

“Moira,” Angela says cautiously, taking a step forward. She glances at Moira's absolutely sloppy workspace, and legitimately starts to worry that she might have cracked under the pressure. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Moira replies, feverently nodding her head. She turns her attention to the workbench and tidies up. “I am making amazing progress.”

“That's good to hear." Angela looks her up and down cautiously, stopping at her suspenders hanging loosely from her trousers. "And have you been resting?”

Moira points to her office. “Of course! I decided to set up camp here, but I have been resting when I can.”

Taking a breath and holding it, Angela approaches Moira’s adjoining office, standing in the doorway. On her work chair is a blanket and pillow, on the desk itself is the kitchen's entire mug collection and a stack of plates. She exhales slowly, keeping her frustration in check. “You haven’t been home, have you?”

“Don’t have time,” Moira says, skirting past Angela to drop into her seat. She adjusts the pillow and sits back with a sigh. “These grant proposals aren’t going to write themselves.”

“Moira,” Angela says, practically pleading as she steps into her office. “ _Tell_ them you need a research assistant.”

“I don’t have the money for one,” she says absently, looking at the open documents on her display. “They won’t just _give_ me one.”

Angela inhales and exhales deeply, her hands settle to Moira's shoulders. Despite being a part of Overwatch’s research and development department, the only money she has is for Overwatch approved projects. Any additional research Moira wants— _needs_ to do to remain in this highly competitive workplace has to be funded elsewhere. She has to run these experiments outside of working hours, and despite being on day four of a five day marathon of experiments, she's on the verge of a breakthrough. _If_ she can confirm her hypothesis _and_ is rewarded with a grant, she will _finally_ have the money to hire a research assistant.

Then her work-life balance can return to some kind of normality, because currently, this us unsustainable.

Angela's eyes drop to Moira's head, at her greasy hair. She’ll have to buy Moira a dry shampoo at lunch so Moira can at least _look_ like she’s showered. Maybe Angela can sneak Moira into the medical wing and she can have a proper shower there.

But as her eyes drop to the blanket hanging off the back of the chair, Angela has a horrible thought. “Moira?”

“Yes,” Moira replies after a beat of silence, not looking away from her display.

“When was the last time you left this building?”

Moira hums, opening her calendar. “Monday.”

“Today is Thursday,” Angela says, evenly and calmly despite wanting to give Moira a stern lecture about not taking proper breaks. She knows that won’t do her any good.

Moira chuckles. “So it is.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s a record, I think.”

Patience wearing incredibly thin, Angela glances into the lab at the centrifuge. “How long is that spin?”

“Thirty minutes.”

"Perfect,” Angela says, wrapping her hand around Moira’s bicep. “Come on, we’re going to get coffee.”

“But I need—”

“You _need_ fresh air and sun." Angela spots the half full jar of instant coffee on the bookshelf and almost retches. " _And_ proper coffee!” She pulls on Moira's arm, but she doesn't budge.

“My grant—”

“Can wait ten minutes.” Angela narrows her eyes when Moira looks up at her. “Don’t make me _order_ you to take a break.”

Moira smirks deviously. “One, I’m a civilian, so your orders mean nothing.” Despite the protest, Moira stands, pulling her arm away to button up her shirt. “Two, you’re not my consulting physician.”

“I _am_ a physician though, and in my medical opinion, you are going to die at your desk.”

Moira chuckles sardonically, picking up her tie from the floor. “How many times have I said that I’d die before I retire?”

“Academics,” Angela mutters, folding her arms across her chest. They're all the same.

“You love me,” Moira coos, and Angela raises an eyebrow in response despite feeling a blush creep on her cheeks. “Don’t deny it.”

“I will not accept nor deny _anything_ regarding that statement,” Angela says, as flat as she can while fighting a smile.

Despite going out for coffee every other morning, attending friday evening drinks and ending up in a corner alone together, what they have is new. Testing the waters, really, because Angela cannot say no to a perfect Irish accent.

_Especially_ if said accent comes from an older woman.

Moira merely laughs, like she's won this _discussion_ , and she turns her attention to her tie as she struggles to loop it properly. Angela looks at her eyes, sees how dark the circles are. Combined with the fact that she's struggling to get her tie done, as she huffs, untying it and starting again, she must be so incredibly sleep deprived.

Angela watches the completely pathetic yet adorable display a moment longer before deciding Moira actually needs help. "Here, let me," she says, taking a step forward. Moira pulls her hands away and watches on with a little grin on her face, and Angela meets her gaze as she pulls the tie up to her collar. "What?"

"Are you aware that you poke your tongue out when you concentrate?"

"I—" Angela huffs. "Yes. Everyone brings it up," she mumbles, extending her arm to the door.

"It's adorable," Moira says as she passes, booping her nose with a finger. Angela blinks, stunned at this strange playful side of Moira she's never, _ever_ seen before, watching Moira glance at the centrifuge and give it a thumbs up as she walks past it. Moira then opens the door to her lab wide, looks over her shoulder, then frowns, finally meeting Angela's gaze. "Are you not coming?"

"Yes," Angela says, swiftly walking to catch up. She doesn't say anything more, nether does Moira, and stews on the fact that while Moira is very clearly sleep deprived, and imagines this is what Moira is like after more than one drink, her playfulness is something Angela actually likes.

They step outside, the warm summer sun beams down, and Moira scoffs. "It's sunny!" she exclaims, like it's the greatest reveal of the century. "It was dreary and drab and raining when I came in on Monday."

"Well, that's what happens between _days_ ," Angela replies. "The weather changes." She wraps her hand around Moira's wrist, jogging to make the green pedestrian light.

"I sense you are upset with me," Moira says as they cross the road, stepping into the park.

"You are neglectful of your health."

"You're not my physician, remember."

Angela huffs, dropping her hand to hold Moira's. "I know, I just…" she stops in front of a bench, placing her other hand on top. "I just care about you," she says quietly.

"Aww, isn't that sweet?"

Angela rolls her eyes, as affectionately as she can. She wasn't expecting reciprocation, not in this strange, delirious state Moira is in. It wouldn't surprise her if Moira doesn't remember any of this after she has a proper night's sleep.

That little thought makes Angela's heart ache, more than she expected.

Pushing that thought away, Angela gestures to the bench, and Moira sits down. "Sit here and soak up the sun for a few minutes. I'll get the coffee."

Moira leans back against the seat, stretching her arms over the backrest and resting her ankle on her knee. Angela leaves her then, standing in the queue for the coffee stand. She's glad that there's a few people here, the longer Moira spends outside, the better for her health, and the happier Angela will be.

It's only a few minutes that pass before Angela's ordering, a cappuccino for Moira and a short black for herself. She's ready to pay when she hears a squeal, and she looks over her shoulder—along with everyone else in the vicinity—at Moira, sitting on the ground, with four leashed Labrador puppies in her lap, all clamoring to lick her face.

She doesn't hear the barista confirm the cost of the order, just drops the credit chip, tells him to keep the change, and approaches Moira as quick as she can. The person holding the leashes, a teenager by the look of him probably walking the pooches for pocket money, tries in vain to pull them into line, but gives up when Moira scoops all four of them up.

"Moira," Angela says, slowly, cautiously. "Are you okay?"

“Angela, look, puppies,” she says, wide-eyed and utterly delirious. “They’re just so _cute._ ” She picks one up, holding it high. “I just want to open them up and see how they work.”

Angela glances at the poor dog walker as the colour literally drains from his face. It's a valid reaction, Moira sounded dead serious. “She’s a scientist,” she tries explaining, but the poor kid doesn’t seem convinced. “She doesn’t mean literally.”

“Oh, but I do—Angela! She’s licking my face!” Moira proceeds to open her mouth and the dog licks inside, and Angela decides there and then that she will never, ever kiss Moira again.   

"Okay, I think that's enough playing with the puppies," Angela tries, picking one out of her lap and handing it back to the kid. The other two are coaxed out with gentle tugging on their leashes but Moira won’t let go of the last one.

Moira looks at the puppy adoringly, letting it chew on her fingers. “Can we take this one home?”

“Well, no, this one already has a family," Angela says slowly, unsure of how Moira will react to the statement. She ignores the fact that Moira used the word 'we' and 'home' in a sentence, it must be her sleep deprived brain because they're no where near moving in together. On top of that, Angela is as far away from a dog person as they get, she much prefers cats, but Moira doesn’t need to know that. All she needs to do is have Moira hand the poor dog back. “She's not our dog to take.”

“But look at this cute little face,” she says in baby talk, cupping the little pooch’s face leaning down, puckering her lips as she leans down.

Angela feels like she should be embarrassed by the display, but it’s simply too amusing. She knew Moira had a softer interior, Angela’s been rewarded with little glimpses of it over the last few weeks over drinks, but that was nothing compared to this. Moira loves animals, despite saying otherwise just last week.

She realises, in this moment, that she should take a photo. Pulling her phone from her pocket, Angela snaps a photo of the dog licking Moira’s lips. _That_ one is going in the scrapbook. And showed to her entire medical team. They won’t be terrified of Moira now, knowing she's just a big softie who is effortlessly brought down by puppies.

Hearing her name called out, Angela looks at the coffee stand, then back at Moira again. She quickly jogs to get the coffee when her name is called a second time, then comes back again.

“I um… I have to go,” the walker tries, but Moira isn’t having any of it, not even acknowledging his statement as she picks up the puppy again. “I have to get back.”

“Moira,” Angela says, crouching down beside her. “I have our coffee.” She holds the cup up, and Moira stares longingly at it. “And you have that grant to write, remember?”

Moira sighs, cradling the puppy and scratching behind its ears. “All right, fine,” she says, placing her back on the ground. The walker tugs on the lead and the puppy eagerly continues her walk as the walker puts as much distance between himself and Moira as he can, as quick as he can.

“All right,” Angela breathes, placing the coffees on the bench and helping Moira up. Moira dusts herself off, and the grin hasn’t left her lips. Angela picks up the coffees, hands Moira’s hers, and she graciously takes it, taking a sip.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Moira says, wrapping her arm around Angela’s waist. “It seems you were right. Going outside was a _wonderful_ idea.”

Angela cannot help but smile“. Yes, well, that’s what happens when you listen to a medical professional.”

They stop at the pedestrian lights, and Moira pulls her in close. She knows she’s going in for a kiss, and Angela reels back.

“Not until you brush your teeth and wash your face!"

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) and see the madness as it unfolds!


End file.
